


to little brothers and promises

by phcbosz



Series: he knows so much about these things [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pedophilia, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Rape/Non-con, rape is not between diego and klaus!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 19:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17873165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: Klaus loses his virginity on the day of his brother’s funeral, in a dirty bathroom stall, with his head banging on the wall with every thrust.





	to little brothers and promises

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings for UNDERAGE RAPE/NON CON, pedophilia, underage drinking, underage drug abuse, drug addiction, child abuse, and choking.
> 
> i tried to keep the rape scene non-graphic but it is There, so please be careful.

Klaus learns to sneak out at the age of twelve, when he realizes that every wall in the house seems to be coming towards him, ever so slowly, but still terrifying, and he realizes he can’t stand to be indoors anymore, he can’t spend another minute being locked up.

So, one night, after a day of planning it, he changes out of his pajamas, and when he is sure no one can hear him walk down the stair, he leaves. The first smell of the cold night air after opening the door makes his head spin, his stomach churn, all at the same time.

There is a rush inside his veins, and his vision is black at the edges, like he just drank his dad’s liquor again. His heart is beating against his ribcage as he takes one step forward, two, three, and soon enough he is running.

It’s cold outside, and not knowing what the weather would be like, he dressed lightly, so he hugs his thin sweatshirt around his body, the wind ruffling his hair and hitting his cheeks like knifes, freezing and cutting, and it’s a small freedom, one he had to steal, but in that moment, Klaus feels as if he is on top of the world, feet dangling off the sky, and he is looking down on his body from third perspective, he watches as he runs and runs, until his whole chest is tight and his lungs burn so bad that it hurts to breathe.

The thing is, now that he has it, Klaus doesn’t know what to do with his newly found freedom. Checking the watch on his wrist shows him that he has 6 hours before everybody wakes up, which means he has 5 hours before he has to sneak back in.

In the middle of the street, under the dark sky filled with thousands of stars, he bends over and puts his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath with harsh pants, and thinks.

What is he supposed to do, now that he is outside? What do normal people do?

 

Right then, he hears the sound of footsteps coming close, someone laughing, loud and uncontained. For a second, his heart stops, before beating again, now faster than ever. He doesn’t know why he is anxious— _scared_ , but his limbs freeze as if there is ice in his veins, and a small group of men turn the street and notice him, with his young face and short height, standing like an idiot with the streetlight right above, illuminating his face.

The laughing stops, dies down with one last snicker, and the men look at him, also frozen, just for a second, before they keep walking, right in his direction, coming right at him.

Klaus is just about to turn around and run away when a voice stops him. “Hey, hey—hey, kid!” The man is slurring and stumbling with his steps, a lazy smirk settled on his face. “You, are you… What are you, lost or… or something?”

Klaus could reply to that, he knows. But the men are getting closer, fast steps echoing in the empty street, and Klaus panics.

He turns around, then, and runs all the way back, once again wind blowing through his hair, once again his lungs burning, but this time it’s more stable, more settled, and he is learning.

The next time he tries, it’s a week later, and he is prepared. He dresses up better this time, so he won’t catch a cold again, and then, when it’s time to leave, he swipes something expensive looking, and puts it inside his pocket, cold against his skin.

Sneaking out is easy, once again, almost ridiculously so, that Klaus wonders why he hasn’t been doing this before.

This time he doesn’t run along like an idiot, but walks calmly, to the opposite direction of where he went last week. Soon enough, he sees a neon flashing sign, a bar, by the looks of it, and he feels a smirk settle on his face.

The one time Klaus got drunk, he really, really got drunk, so he doesn’t remember it. All he remembers is the taste of ash in his mouth the other day, and his pounding headache, his stomach churning.

But if he doesn’t get drunk, drinks a little, steal only sips of his dad’s liquor, then all it does is ease his brain, make him unfocused and hazy enough the corpses leave, and during the night, he doesn’t wake up screaming.

His dad doesn’t even care, as long as Klaus wakes up fresh tomorrow, and isn’t late for training.

So, when he sees the bar, Klaus knows where he is going.

Inside it is warm, and a song is playing softly in the background, drowned out by the sound of chatter and glasses clinking, some guys yelling as they play pool in a corner, all with beers in their hands and cheeks flushed with the heat.

Klaus takes a hesitant step forward, then pulls back his shoulder, pushes out his chest, and walks forward like he owns the place.

First, the bartender looks, and then turns away, before his head snaps back again, and his eyes bulge out of his face. “Kid,” the guy calls out, still cleaning a glass, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Why do people come to bars?” Klaus asks, not caring the looks he is getting as he pulls out a chair and sits. “I want to get a drink.”

The bartender looks shocked, for a second, before he laughs, loud, and Klaus is getting real tired of people doing that. “No way that’s happening,” the guy says, putting down the glass. “How old are you?”

“How old do you need me to be?”

The man opens his mouth to reply, but then there is a new voice from beside them, low and rumbling. “Oh, shit, I like this kid!”

“Come on, Dave,” the bartender sighs, looking uncomfortable. Klaus turns to look at the second man, seeing a suit and a smirking face, eyes focused on him. When the man sees him looking, he winks.

“No, no, I’m serious,” Dave says, putting up a hand. “This kid has some serious balls, coming in here like that. Come on. Just pour him a drink!”

When the bartender looks uncertain, Dave presses. “I know you want to.”

And that’s how Klaus ends up with a bottle of beer in front of him, and he smirks, surprised by how easy it was, but not complaining.

Reaching into his pocket, he is just about to take out the thing he stole, when Dave says, “it’s on me, kid,” and Klaus isn’t about to say no to that.

“Thanks,” he says instead, taking a sip of his beer, and it warms his whole mouth, his throat, his stomach, and instantly, he feels lighter.

“Not your first time drinking, huh?” The man asks, and Klaus laughs.

After that, they keep talking, and Klaus doesn’t remember much after half of his first beer disappears, just bits and pieces, of him laughing, of Dave slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in, and walking home, after two beers, drunk as shit, laughing and giggling with every step.

When he opens the door loudly and slams it behind him, muffling his giggles by pressing a hand against his mouth, he hears the sound of footsteps upstairs.

Luther, is the first to come down, and see him, cheeks flushed and smiling. “Klaus?” He asks, shocked, like he was expecting an intruder to be there, by the way he is standing like he expects an attack.

“Hey, Lu,” Klaus exclaims, dragging the name out with a wide smile, “what are you doing up so late?”

The rest, he doesn’t remember. He sleeps like the dead, and the next morning, he gets grounded. Dad doesn’t look up from his notebook as he speaks, tells Klaus that he is so, so disappointed in him, that Klaus almost laughs.

When he was a child, hearing that had hurt. Now, it’s just something that he embraces, like he embraces the dirty looks everyone throws at him, because he made Dad mad and now the man is making them train for it.

Soon enough, Klaus starts to sneak out more and more, sometimes coming back drunk, sometimes coming back high, sometimes a mixture of both.

Soon, they go on their first official mission, and they go public, and soon, when Klaus tries to buy some weed, his dealer recognizes him, gives him some more drugs for free.

Soon, Klaus is rolling joints under the dining table, while everyone ignores him. It wasn’t always like that—he used to be close with Ben, but after they started their missions, Ben has not been himself, and Klaus has not been himself, always high off his ass, and Ben can’t stand it.

So, everybody ignores him, nobody cares, and Klaus is okay with that, as long as he can get high, because now that he knows what it is like to not get followed around by corpses all the time, he can’t go back to the way things used to be, he can’t get enough of this newly found freedom he created for himself.

That day, Five runs out, and he never comes back again.

Dad puts a painting of him, huge and judging, right on the main wall where everybody can see it. When Klaus is 14, they have a funeral. It’s all just really funny to Klaus, and he is snickering the whole time, behind his hand, wearing bright pink, because he knows it will make Dad mad.

And it does. “Number Four,” dad starts, in that tone, with that look, and Klaus instantly knows what is coming, “explain your behavior right this instant.”

Klaus laughs, points at his dad and shakes his head at the audience they are gathering, inside the house, everybody is watching, Luther looks ready to tackle him to the ground, Diego looks ready to stab him, and Allison is crying—

“Can you believe this guy?” He asks, like it’s all some kind of huge joke, and it is.

“Number Four—”

“Five is not dead!” He screams, sudden and uncontained. Vanya flinches sharply, but doesn’t look away. “He left because he couldn’t stand your fucking _bullshit_ anymore, and he is never coming back because he realized just how nicer it is out there, where you are not just… Sitting there and judging all of us!”

By the time he is finished, he is standing right in front of the man, chin raised high, arms crossed in front of his chest. Teenage rebellion, he thinks. Hell yeah, he thinks. Please, _give me a reaction_ , he thinks.

“We shall discuss this at another time, Number Four,” Dad says then, simple, and oh-so-calm, eyes just empty holes full of nothing, “for the time being, you are grounded.”

Dad has never hit any of them, before. Hell, Klaus has never even heard the man yell. Sometimes, he wishes that the man would scream and hit and kick, so that Klaus would have something to go on, so that Klaus would have something and not just empty air.

He pushes the man, harshly, and he stumbles back, wearing an expression of shock, and it is something to see, really, so different from the usual expression of emptiness, so close to what Klaus actually wants to see on the man’s face.

“Fuck you,” he spits out, feeling every syllable burn inside him.

Then, it happens fast. “Hey!” Luther yells, but before he can even take a step forward, Diego is running, and he slams into Klaus with such force that they both go down.

It makes a sick sound, when Klaus’ head hits the ground, loud and crunchy, and he is pretty sure he is knocked out for a second or two. When he opens his eyes again, there are black spots in his vision, and Diego looks blurry on top of him.

“Five is dead!” Diego screams, pulling Klaus up with the grip he has on his shirt, before slamming him back again, and this time Klaus feels every bit of it, makes some kind of confused sound. “He is dead and if you weren’t always too high of your ass to know what two plus two is, you would know, you fucking moron!”

Klaus laughs, but it is cut short, because Diego starts squeezing his neck, and Klaus knows, he is pretty sure Diego won’t kill him, but it is a pretty scary experience.

The worst thing, maybe, is that while all of this happens, as Klaus claws at Diego’s hand, tries to reach the boy’s face with his fingernails, feet kicking on the ground with the last desperation given to him, his ‘family’ is around them, watching, and not doing anything.

Luther pulls Diego off him, after how many seconds, Klaus doesn’t know, but they feel like years, when he starts coughing and wheezing, and he is seeing blurry, he is seeing double, he isn’t seeing anything.

Dad must have left, somewhere along the show, along with Vanya. Allison leaves as Luther drags Diego away, and all that is left in the huge room is Klaus and Ben, and Klaus is already reaching into his pocket for a pill.

Ben stands frozen still, like the way he stands after missions, and Ben stares, as Klaus puts the pill in his mouth, wipes the tears off his cheeks, and gets off the ground with shaky legs, as if he is walking on thin air.

“Klaus,” Ben calls out just before he leaves, but Klaus just fastens his steps so he doesn’t have to hear what the boy might be saying.

Inside the bar, it is incredibly warm, just like it was two years ago. Klaus doesn’t really remember what happens that day, but he can guess.

He doesn’t know the man’s name, but he accepts the drink the guy offers him, drinks without a care.

He loses his virginity on the day of his brother’s funeral, in a dirty bathroom stall, with his head banging on the wall with every thrust.

Somewhere along the line, the man traces his neck with a curious finger, looking at the forming bruises, and when he speaks, his mouth smells like the inside of a bar. “How’d you get this?” He asks.

Klaus doesn’t bother to reply.

Then, the curious finger is replaced by a hand, and for a second all Klaus feels if pure panic, loud and unashamed, before the man squeezes, gently at first, asking, “You like it rough, baby, huh?” And then the small grip turns to steel, and Klaus’ hands fly up to pull at the man’s wrist.

“Shh, shh,” the man hushes, and he keeps repeating it, “It’s okay.”

Klaus really thinks the man is going to kill him right then and there, but it’s just a pull and a push, squeezing just enough for Klaus’ vision to go black, before allowing him to suck on a gasp of air, rinse, and repeat.

By the time they are done, Klaus feels seven years older, and like his clothes don’t fit him anymore, too tight and too scruffy against his skin. Before the guy leaves, after zipping up his pants, he throws Klaus a wink, and leaves the door open after he walks away.

Klaus pulls his pants up, wipes the tears off his face once again, and limps home. He doesn’t know what time it is, then, but the streets are empty and the sun is sleeping.

When he opens the door, he immediately hears footsteps coming his way and he thinks, _shit_ , I’m too tired for this.

But it’s not anybody who he expects to see. Diego, is looking at him, first angry, before it molds into something else in a blink, and as Klaus stumbles forward, Diego is running to catch him.

“Klaus?” And Diego sounds concerned, panicking. “What happened? What d—d—did you take?”

Then, it’s Klaus laughing, then, it’s Klaus pushing Diego away, then it’s him sobbing his heart out, sitting on the cold ground, pulling at his hair.

“Klaus, Klaus, come on,” Diego is saying, trying to get him to look up, and with a hand on his chin, the boy finally manages. Then, with a sharp gasp, Diego pales, his eyes on Klaus’ neck, and he looks about ready to faint.

“Don’t worry,” Klaus says, Klaus smirks, and his voice is hoarse like he smoked eight packs of cigarettes, “it was another psycho who did that.”

Then, Diego’s gaze is going lower, seeing the ripped shirt, the hickeys coloring Klaus’ pale skin, the teeth mark on his shoulder, and Diego falls back, on the ground, hand flying to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears like he just learned that mom died, or something.

Klaus hugs himself, tight, because he is cold and shaking and shivering, and he feels like he is floating ten feet out of his body, looking down at the pathetic mess he is.

Diego slowly gets up, dusts off his clothes, and starts tugging at Klaus, gentle. “C—come on, Klaus,” Diego says. “We n—need to tell Dad,” Diego says. “P—p— _please_ , Klaus!” Diego says. Klaus takes mercy on him, and gets up, wincing with every movement, and his vision is still blurry, he is still limping.

“You’re o—okay,” Diego says, and all kind of bullshit.

“What is telling Dad gonna do?” Klaus asks, on the stairs, head lolling and bobbing and falling.

Diego doesn’t answer, just looks away. When they go to the bathroom, Klaus struggles a little. Diego hushes him, looks around paranoidly to check if anybody heard.

“I don’t want to take my clothes off,” Klaus whines, and it’s a confession, whispered in a tiny voice, lost in the air.

Diego looks sick. “You don’t have to,” he says, then, “you are just gonna take a… Clothed bath. It will be fun, like when we were kids, remember?”

Klaus would rather throw up and choke on his own vomit, but he nods, because he does remember all those times during the summer when it would get too hot and they would have water balloon fights, or just get in the bathtub fully clothed, when they weren’t feeling up to playing.

“We are not kids anymore,” he informs Diego helpfully. His words have a certain slur to them, and he swears the walls are breathing.

“No,” Diego says, “we are not.”

Klaus gets in the bathtub, only takes off his jacket, and Diego holds the water for him as he lazily rubs on his skin to get the blood off—his shoulder is bleeding, where the man bit it.

After Diego deems him clean enough, he helps him get out, and wraps him in six towels. “Come on,” Diego says again, and helps Klaus limp to his room.

Klaus is already half asleep, but he is sober enough to hold Diego’s hand, and squeeze. “Don’t tell dad,” he says, half begging.

“Klaus—”

“You can’t tell him, Diego,” and Klaus is so drunk and high that he can’t do proper puppy dog eyes, but he tries anyway, like he is begging for the last piece of pizza, and not for his brother to hold a secret for him.

“We h—have to!” Diego sounds frustrated and angry and scared and like a small kid. “He can h—help, find who did t—this—”

“Please,” Klaus begs, then, because it is the only thing he can do. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Diego stares at him for a few seconds, looks away, then sighs, hands rubbing at his eyes, and he doesn’t look like a kid at all, then, like suddenly he grew up and is maturing right in front of Klaus, right that second, right that minute. “Okay,” Diego says, and he sounds tired, “I won’t t—tell anyone.”

“Promise?”

“P—p—pr—” Diego starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. Then, under Klaus’ heavy gaze, he tries again. “P—pr— _promise._ ”

Diego leaves, after that, because Klaus tells him to go, and then he sleeps with his wet clothes still on, and he doesn’t dream.

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> listen i was gonna do that whole thing where u rewrite the story instead of just editing it but i got so lazy so now im publishing it without even reading it once!! self-care.


End file.
